Final Farewell
by Inks Inc
Summary: My one-shot response to Thomas Gibson's (Hotch's) firing. Contains: Character Death.


Garcia exchanged strained looks with a pensive looking Spencer and a pale JJ. All that remained of their original cohort was in the small, stuffy room. Dave studied the three beside him, and it was clear to them all that he was desperately clueless as to the content of the DVD he clutched in his hand. Wordlessly he handed it to Garcia who took in well manicured fingers, staring down at it as if it were a particularly venomous snake.

The absence of their leader, their rock…it was conspicuous.

It was glaring.

The loss of Morgan was still so raw, still so damned acute that she didn't allow herself to think of anything sinister regarding her beloved bossman. He was probably just…under the weather. Superhero crime fighters caught the sniffles too, right? But he hadn't called, and he hadn't checked in. Save for the one short, non specific text of absence he had sent to Dave, Aaron Hotchner hadn't been seen or heard from within the BAU realm for three days.

And it felt like three lifetimes.

The disk slid into the awaiting player, and Penelope felt a bizarre sense of dread. Like she was literally feeding her own misery. Maybe this disc hadn't come from Hotch at all? Maybe they were all just jumping the gun, and he'd blow into the office tomorrow morning, irritable and _present._ But the cramped, sloped writing on the plain manila envelope was unmistakable; she didn't need to be a profiler to know it was his when it landed on her lap, put there by a clammy looking JJ.

They had all sensed…that something wasn't right with Agent Aaron Hotchner.

Jack was different, Hotch was different…it was all so very different.

They knew as their leader's child grew and became less and less amenable to the protections Aaron tried to put in place between his job and his son, things would become complex. JJ harboured those fears about her own children; Rossi praised the Lord that his daughter was a grown, strong woman. Spencer and Garcia both childless for the moment, spared of those concerns.

"Shall we just…get it over with?"

The slight Italian twang, tempered with a habitual American drawl caught the three younger members short. Garcia realised all eyes were on her as she loitered with the remote in her hand, feeling oddly like she was holding a loaded gun. She cleared her throat jerkily, her quirkiness dissipating fast and furious as she was gripped by a cold fear. Snapping to it, she slowly pressed the play button and fell back into her seat. Spencer instantly threw an arm around her shoulders, filling the void, both physical and psychological that had scorched into the tech's life in the wake of Morgan's absence.

She adored him for it.

The TV shuddered into life, with four sets of eyes transfixed upon it.

There was a slight shuffling and scuffling as the author of the disc fiddled with the camera settings. A collective breath was held as the figure stepped back, falling into an awaiting chair. It was Hotch. A tired, beleaguered looking Hotch at that. He held what they presumed to be his ancient camcorder at an arm's length, as he cleared his throat. Dressed in a faded sweat shirt, frayed at the neck and a pair of jeans that had most certainly seen better days, he looked more un-Hotch like than ever before.

Call her pessimistic, but JJ took his attire as a bad omen.

"I'm going to have to take it as a given that you're all watching this…"

His voice, cracked and hoarse and monumentally unlike his usual self assured tones caught all who gathered by surprise. Looks were exchanged, and brows were raised. Lips were pursed, as hearts kicked up a beat.

"Dave, Garcia, Reid and JJ…I'm sorry that this is the way I do this. I really am. We should have sat down and spoken about this like a team, but…I'm afraid it just isn't possible. I won't insult you all by assuming you haven't noticed a change in me recently. I know you all have. I know you all have had questions and I thank you for respecting my privacy and not asking those questions."

He paused, as did the normal pulse rhythms of the four watching individuals.

The pain on his face was tangible, palpable and for the first time…Dave saw that expression for what it was. They had all assumed, partially rightly and partially wrongly so, that the look of anguish they had seen creeping through Aaron's face of late had been emotional pain. Purely emotional pain. With everything he'd been through recently, the discomforting developments in the relationship with his son…with _everything,_ it wasn't exactly surprising.

But now, as Dave stared, really stared…he felt his gut contract in upon itself.

That pain…that wasn't just emotional pain. That was physical, plain as day physiological pain.

Raw human anguish.

A sharp intake of breath beside him let him know that Reid had also clocked the difference in the contraction of Aaron's facial muscles. JJ, being slightly newer to the art of profiling missed it and Garcia being engulfed in emotional stress, saw only emotional stress looking back at her. The pause seemed to trail on for the most indeterminable of lengths, but really it was only a three second break in transmission.

"The absences, the unexplained lateness…" Hotch continued, his usually keen brown eyes having a watered down condition about them, "there's a reason for them." They watched in unified horror as he grimaced. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to say it."

The air seemed to dive into the minus figures.

"I'm dying," Hotch explained simply, much like one would comment upon the state of the weather, "stage four stomach cancer, inoperable, untreatable. I was diagnosed about three months ago, and the final prognosis came in yesterday." He took a rather racking breath, which seemed oddly muted in the utterly stunned, stupefied and horrified confines of the viewing room. "I have about seven months left, give or take and I want to spend every second with Jack…"

For the first time, the stiff exterior broke and the faintest traces of bitter tears welled up in the brown eyes. "He's lost his mother, and he's about to lose his father. I need…I need to prepare him for that. We're moving out of town, as far away as possible. I want him to have no reminders of the life he used to live. I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'm going to make sure he's set up and safe before I…well, before I go…"

The room was spinning before the eyes of the amassed BAU.

"Hayley's sister and I…are the only family Jack really has," Hotch continued, a catch in his voice, "but…I'm more fortunate than my son. I have two families. Him…and you guys." His face crumpled again, and the uncharacteristic lack of cool, collective serenity hit them like an avalanche. "You've been my family," Aaron continued doggedly, "for years…you've been it. This job and you…have gotten me through the toughest times of my life, times where if not for Jack….I think I would have…."

He trailed off, and the implication was devastatingly clear.

"You got me through," he choked out slowly, "you gave Jack more years with me than… Foyet…and _life_ ever intended us to have. You've all driven me _crazy,"_ he paused to offer a rather watery, lopsided grin, "and you've made me proud, made me laugh and made me find the will to go on. But…I can't go on anymore. This is not a question of mind over matter. I'm…going to die, and I've accepted that. But I can't go until you know what you have to do…"

He broke off again and took in a heaving breath.

"You have to go on," he said simply, "you have to keep going. The BAU…has helped so many, saved so many…you have to go on. You are not to look for me, and you are not to waste time grieving for me. You are to use your talents, use your skills and use your passion to help those who _can_ be helped. I am not one of those people, but there are hundreds who are. You are going to help them. Nothing could make me happier or prouder."

His breath faltered for a moment, but he quickly reclaimed it.

"It was an honour working with you all. It was a privilege to have you in my life. You've all taught me more than I could ever teach you." He faltered once more, toying with a stray thread in his sweat shirt, before locking eyes with the camera once more. "Dave…you taught me that it was ok to be a lawyer, and that you didn't _really_ hate me for it. Spencer…you taught me that in all things, the will to win is more important than the win itself. Garcia…you taught me that I can wear that pink tie you got me for Christmas, and still look like a unit chief. JJ…you taught me to trust myself as a father, and for that, I can never repay you…"

He paused, and the strain of his unusual emotional openness was clear to see.

His crooked smile took them by surprise.

"Remember what I told you, remember what I've taught you, and remember above all, who you are."

He reached for the camcorder, a fire burning in his eyes, and a ring of pride soaring in his weakening voice. He shot them the last lopsided smile they would ever see of their friend, boss and family.

"Wheels up in thirty."

…..

FIN

….

A/N: A quick one-shot to deal with my _ire_ at Thomas Gibson's ludicrous dismissal. The show is probably over for me now, but my love of the series as it stands before his departure remains strong. I will continue to write CM fic's, but season eleven is where it ends for me. Anyhow, I know this is sad, but it's the only way I could countenance him leaving.

Farewell, Aaron Hotchner!


End file.
